


por una cabeza

by orpheuslament



Series: sangre en los dientes [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dancing Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), no beta we die like men, they're hiding in uruguay because i say so, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26661238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orpheuslament/pseuds/orpheuslament
Summary: por una cabeza, todas las locuras/ su boca que besa / borra la tristeza / calma la amargura.Part one ofsangre en los dientes.Hannibal teaches Will how to tango.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: sangre en los dientes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939858
Comments: 15
Kudos: 163





	por una cabeza

_"A tango (like a marriage) is something you have to dance to the end."_ — Anne Carson.

**i. por una cabeza**

It’s early September and the wind has begun to carry the first signs of Spring back to their side of the equator. Will can feel the tip of his toes starting to go numb. The water still cold under his feet. It’ll take at least a couple of weeks more for the Atlantic to start heating up. He doesn’t move, merely closing his eyes and focusing on matching his breathing to the gentle sway of the ocean until the only thing he registers is the icy kiss of the waves against his ankles.

Hannibal had somehow managed to acquire a beach house in Punta del Este. An enormous remodeled old manor with direct access to the beach. A beautiful thing, isolated enough to ensure they wouldn’t get bothered by tourists and families on vacation yet close enough to civilization for Hannibal to indulge in his more exquisite tastes.

They would make the two-hour car trip to Montevideo often. Hannibal would take him to the theatre, the opera, to art galleries and expensive-looking restaurants and bring him home way past midnight. He cherished those nights. Loved the way his mouth curled around unfamiliar Spanish words and how he introduced him as _mi marido_ to strangers. Ached for the way his hand would rest on his lower back as he mingled, claiming him as something of his own. A fabricated existence, but a pleasant one nonetheless.

The rest of the time Hannibal would leave Will to his own devices. He’d bought fishing equipment from a small local store about a month after they settled in, and would sometimes disappear early in the morning only to come back around lunchtime with a full freezer and a terrible sunburn. Hannibal would already be setting the table and it was all so peaceful, so _domestic_ , Will could not help but worry about when it would all come crashing down.

It was an easy dance they danced. A compromise. Will preserved his space and independence, Hannibal his lifestyle and social circle, and they both had each other.

Will opens his eyes, takes one last deep breath, and starts making his way up to the backdoor. 

-

The rich smell of coffee welcomes him as soon as he steps foot into the kitchen, french press still steaming where it’s placed in the middle of the island. Next to it is his favorite mug and a plate of pastries from their usual bakery. Dulce de leche, cabello de ángel, and some plain biscuits to go with their very expensive, very organic apricot jam.

He smiles to himself as he grabs his breakfast and heads to the living room. A soft piano melody floats through the house. The sunlight bounces against the tall windows, the room open and warm. Hannibal is sitting in one of the chairs near the balcony, profile sharp and relaxed against the morning light. His hair is already long enough to almost cover his eyes when he looks down. Will fights the urge to brush it back for him.

He looks up from whatever he’s reading on his tablet the moment he acknowledges Will's presence. He looks sleepy and soft around the edges, and if Will didn't know him better than he knows himself he'd have trouble reconciling the man sitting in front of him with the cannibalistic serial killer.

"Good morning", he presses a short smile to the rim of his cup before taking a sip, his accent always thicker when he first wakes up. "How was your walk?"

"It was nice," he replies, taking the seat in front of him, "water's still cold."

"It will start warming up soon enough. We could rent a boat and spend a day at sea if you wish."

Will feels the back of his neck heat up. "You really don't have to do that."

Will had yet to grow accustomed to how easily Hannibal seemed to spend large amounts of money just to please him. The house, he knows, was for him. Hannibal would have chosen something closer to the metropolis, plus he’d wanted Will to decide on most of the interior design —not the kitchen, though, Will knew that space was sacred—, so instead of avant-garde uncomfortable furniture they had well-loved antiques. Then came the clothes, the car, the ridiculously large TV that they didn’t even use. Every time Will expressed the slightest interest in anything it would be waiting for him at home the next day. And now a boat, apparently. He is certain Hannibal would try to actually buy him one if he let him.

"I know I don't. I would like to."

Hannibal drops his tablet on the table and folds his hands in front of him. Will can feel his vibrant amber eyes on him and busies himself with breakfast to avoid returning the look. He feels shy all of a sudden, vulnerable, and can't quite figure out why.

"Is it really that hard to believe that I enjoy making you happy?" he adds after a pause.

What surprises Will the most is that it's a sincere question.

It’s reasonable, he thinks, after everything they’ve put each other through. Remembers all the blood and the pain and betrayal and _death_. They carry so many sins on their backs, how can they possibly trust each other? They'll both live with the wounds of their pasts for the rest of time. It doesn’t make sense. They don’t make sense. Will has long stopped trying to apply logic to anything related to the two of them.

This is the man who left him to bleed out on his kitchen floor, whimpering and broken as he felt his insides drip between his fingers. This is also the man who carried him to safety, who bathed him and stitched him up, even delirious in pain, even when the fever had gotten too high to keep himself upright.

He remembers how cold his hands were when he dragged them out of the sea. How fear clung to his every thought when he could no longer feel Hannibal breathing next to him, and everything he knew, past, present, and future, washed over him like dark water.

They had been given a second chance. The shattered teacup gathering itself back together.

The question hangs in the air between them, unanswered. It is not the time to dissect whatever it is they have become. He feels the weight of the golden band around his finger and wonders, for probably the thousandth time, what it truly means for both of them.

Will finally decides to sever the deafening silence between them.

“It could be fun. The boat, I mean,” he finishes the last of his coffee with a long swig, letting it burn all the way down his throat. “I could finally teach you how to fish.”

Hannibal eyes soften, almost imperceptibly, and gives him a short nod for an answer. They finish their breakfast in comfortable silence. The monotone rhythm of Hannibal’s fingers tapping away at his tablet and the gentle music coming from their record player in the corner creating a cocoon of safety and serenity around them. Will allows himself to close his eyes for a second and leans back on his chair with a sigh, basking in the peaceful morning hours.

“Helena has asked us to join her and her husband for the festival next week.”

Will reluctantly pries one of his eyes open. “What festival?”

“The tango festival, Will,” he replies as if he just asked the most stupid question known to man. “It’s a yearly occurrence. Every spring, some of the best musicians in the continent gather for a five-day-long musical gala. It’s quite outstanding. I’ve mentioned it to you before.”

“To be honest, sometimes I just completely blackout when you’re talking.”

Will smirks as he feels Hannibal glaring at him, with the knowledge that if he was literally any other person his liver would be marinating by now.

“Anyway,” he chuckles, “I don’t know if I’d be good company. You know I can’t dance.”

“Nonsense, anyone can dance.”

“No, not me. Let alone _tango_ , Hannibal.”

“Then I will teach you.”

Will swears he can feel all his blood rush to his cheeks. “What.”

Hannibal throws a long-suffering look his way.

“I will teach you. I learned how to tango years ago, as a young man in Paris,” he gracefully stands up, fixing his robe as he does, and heads in the direction of their vinyl collection, “I am certainly out of practice, but I would like to believe I still remember the basics.” His long fingers pluck one of the records out of the shelf and he blows the thin layer of dust off it.

Will stays put where he’s sitting while Hannibal ever so delicately switches the vinyl that had been playing until now for the one in his hands. The piano keys stop and a smooth violin fills the room in their place. After adjusting the volume, he moves to stand in front of Will, holding out a hand for him.

“Come.”

When he rises he pointedly avoids Hannibal’s eyes. It’s not like they’re unfamiliar with physical contact, they have a cover to maintain, after all, but something about the situation feels unbelievably intimate. The sunlight filtering through the windows smoothes their features and envelopes the room in red and orange colors. Hannibal takes his hand with utmost tenderness and slowly moves it so it’s resting on his shoulder.

“I will lead, for now,” his own hand finding its place between Will’s shoulder blades, “if that’s alright.”

His opposite arm comes up to lace their fingers together and Will has to stop himself from trembling when Hannibal gently, ever so gently, pushes him towards him.

“I’m gonna step on your toes,” he tries joking, but his voice comes out airy and raspy, almost a whisper.

When he finally musters the strength to look up Hannibal is already staring at him, eyes crinkling with a barely visible smile.

“Focus on mimicking my moves,” he takes them to the center of the room without breaking eye contact, “and let me carry you.”

Hannibal’s hands are big and warm where they rest. Hands he has seen covered in blood, breaking bones, squeezing the life out of their victims. Now, though, they're careful, almost tentative, and Will does as he's told and lets himself be carried.

It’s surprisingly easy, they fit perfectly against each other, and when Hannibal pulls he follows. He keeps staring at their feet, doing his best to not trip, and can feel Hannibal’s unrelenting gaze on him. It makes him feel like his chest is being torn open and the only thing keeping him together is Hannibal’s arms around him. He can feel the muscles on his back shift under his fingertips and he knows he’s holding onto him way too tightly, but he feels as if he might drown the moment he lets go.

Following a specially sharp chord Hannibal spins them, stretching their interlocked hands in the direction they’re moving so they’re pressed even closer.

“See?” Hannibal whispers, mouth next to his ear. “You’re dancing.”

The nearness of it prompts a shiver to run down Will’s spine and he lets out a nervous laugh.

“I guess you could call it that,” Hannibal’s hand moves downwards until it’s resting on his waist and Will draws in a shaky breath, “I must make a really lousy partner.”

“You’re perfect.”

Hannibal dips him carefully. The room dissolves around them.

They’re both panting slightly, Hannibal’s lips parted and hair cascading down his face. He feels weightless, younger than he has in years. He thinks about how easy it would be to close the distance between them, wonders why he hasn’t already. Hannibal keeps looking at him, strong fingers digging on his side to the point it should hurt. It doesn’t. Neither of them dare to move, both suspended in time. It feels like they’re falling again, it feels like they have been falling forever. He never wants to land.

And then the song ends.

Hannibal pulls him up and they stand in the middle of the room while the next track starts playing, not wanting the moment to end.

Hannibal is the first to let go, subtly caressing his back as he moves his arm away. Will misses the touch the moment it leaves him.

“I need to get dressed,” Hannibal sounds utterly composed, unaffected, but the slight red tainting his cheekbones betrays him, “we will keep practicing another time.”

Will feels as if he has just woken up from a particularly vivid dream, “Yeah.”

Hannibal moves to pick up the remains of their breakfast, piling the dishes on top of each other and heading towards the kitchen.

“I will call Helena to confirm our attendance”, he shoots over his shoulder as he’s leaving the room.

Will yells after him, “Don’t get too excited about it.”

He can’t see it, but he knows Hannibal is smiling. He feels giddy, content, the scar on his cheek pulling tight at his own smile.

He takes in his surroundings once more, the music still playing, the quiet crashing of the waves in the distance, and feels at home.

**Author's Note:**

> [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05W-XI5loSY&ab_channel=TheTangoProject-Topic) is the song i pictured them dancing to!
> 
> also i haven't written fanficion in ages and english is not my first language so pls be kind to me thank u


End file.
